


friend-shaped yarn

by Maarchi



Series: otbu-verse [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (Vaguely) Creature Jaskier, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kinda Wholesome, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Might Not Work As A Standalone, Mostly with Jaskier, because i wanted this thing to be a bit softer than the related fic, but it isn't described in much detail and mostly told through geralt's internal monologue, established relationships - Freeform, gentle angst, mention of blood and injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maarchi/pseuds/Maarchi
Summary: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo: Stuffed AnimalsJaskier's head isn't kind to him. Geralt decides that a logical way of helping out with that is by giving him a stuffed animal.For those who read otbu, disclaimer: this is set in a 'possible future' that I am considering including in the fic. This is just an exploration, not actually canon in any way, shape, or form.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: otbu-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072910
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	friend-shaped yarn

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Jaskier's mental health has taken a turn for the worse after some harrowing events. He and Geralt decide that it'd be best for Jaskier to recuperate and heal himself at Kaer Morhen for a year before he resumes his life as Geralt's companion and traveling bard. Jaskier wants to feel more useful (since certain issues keep him from being a bard), so he works with Vesemir and Triss to get some other skills (including monster knowledge and magic).
> 
> For those who have not read otbu: Triss is a trans woman and allergic to magic. Rituals are a 'raw' kind of Chaos which can be pre-set into a spell and then cast when blood is used. Runes are symbols and icons which hold magic in a specific way that can then be unleashed like a spell.

Geralt finds Jaskier with his face hidden in his hands, eyes glaring holes through the keep's stone walls. 

This isn't an unusual sight—not anymore. Jaskier has taken to isolating himself when in a particularly volatile mood. He still doesn't like to talk about what festers in his mind. Sometimes, though, when his rage coexists with his tiredness and he _'floats in the mists'_ , he can spit it out through his teeth, fists clenching.

Jaskier doesn't acknowledge Geralt's presence. He lets him sit on the bed, half an arm's length between them. The distance Jaskier prefers when he's like this. 

"How is it?" Geralt asks. 

He's still not sure how to talk about this with Jaskier—how to check-in properly. Jaskier had said he doesn't know, either. They're trying their best to move forward anyway.

Geralt has learned that _'everything okay?'_ , while a functional stock-phrase with others, tends to send Jaskier into a fit of rage or a downward spiral...or both. Like the last time Geralt asked it. Jaskier had slammed his fist into a tree while screaming, then burst into tears and begged for forgiveness on his knees, apologizing that he'd imagined hitting Geralt's face instead.

Geralt was much too focused on trying to bandage Jaskier's knuckles, but it took an hour to explain that no, Geralt wasn't mad.

Jaskier shudders, his breath shaky. Geralt sees him close his eyes and then Jaskier bends forward, completely hiding his face. There's a stifled sob. Geralt knows better than to touch Jaskier right now, though he longs to rub a soothing hand up and down Jaskier's back.

"Did you train?" Geralt asks. Vesemir's idea. Jaskier's rage meant more energy, more bite in his attacks, so physical exertion seemed like the perfect way to let off steam. It almost was. They didn't account for the recklessness, impatience, nor the quick temper, which did not fare well when coupled with Jaskier's inadequate self-image. It's long since been discovered that a two-way spar does not help, but going on a run does, a little bit. As do the straw training dummies, which Jaskier tends to behead.

Jaskier mutters something under his breath, but it gets interrupted by another sob. He inhales deeply and steels himself. Geralt's chest swells with many conflicting emotions, among them a pity he has to get rid of and pride.

"It...didn't help," murmurs Jaskier. Geralt sits in silence, waiting to see if Jaskier has more to say. It takes a little while. "I couldn't find the straw dummies and the wooden ones didn't help."

This isn't new to Geralt, who has supervised Jaskier with the dummies before. He's witnessed firsthand the fury and desperation of Jaskier when the sword got stuck in the wood and he couldn't pull it out.

The courtyard had a lot of blood and tears spilled on it that day, and they had to use the last of Triss' emergency healing potions on Jaskier's hands, lest he'd lose his fingers. Geralt's eyes reflexively stray from the back of Jaskier's head to his hands. No new scars, as far as he can see. No stench of blood. _Good._ Whatever happened, he hadn't tried to get the sword out by the blade again.

Geralt wants to ask Jaskier if he went running, if he jumped and vaulted in the eastern ruins, where his acrobatics get a chance to shine. 

There's no point in asking, because Jaskier knows how to help himself. If there was anything that he could do to mitigate it, Jaskier wouldn't be simmering with pained rage in an abandoned corner of the keep, sitting on a rotting bed.

"Can I do anything?" Geralt asks instead. Jaskier takes a while answering again. There's a sway to his head as he thinks, and his palms start to rub and scrub his face. It looks painful, but Jaskier always says it soothes him. 

Suddenly, Jaskier raises his head from his hands. He's maniacally wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing like a beached fish's. Frustrated with his inability to voice his answer, Jaskier snaps his mouth shut. His teeth click and his jaw pops. Geralt stops himself from running a thumb over Jaskier's cheek.

The bard turns to Geralt, eyes puffy and intense. His hands twitch, squeezing the air and angled like claws. Jaskier balls them into a fist once, twice. They tremble. Geralt knows what that means—what Jaskier's asking. He spreads his arms just a bit, elbows barely leaving his sides, when Jaskier launches himself at Geralt and clings to him. 

Geralt winds his arms around Jaskier's shoulders, burying the bard's head further into the crook of his neck. Jaskier's arms tighten around him. If there is one thing about his mutations to be thankful for, it is this. Lambert and Eskel, when on the receiving end of Jaskier's lethal rage-induced embraces, claim their ribs and spine to be sore for days after. There was even one instance of bone fracture, which they still keep secret from Jaskier. Geralt has no such issues. The hugs are warm and grounding. It is almost as if they are trying to mend their bodies and souls together, filling the other's cracks.

Jaskier had giggled softly when Geralt first told him that. Called him a poet, then cried and kissed Geralt's face when he tried to turn it into a poem on the spot.

The hugs are great. Jaskier likes them in general, not just when he wants to squeeze something to death. He gives hugs as thanks—kisses, too, but only with Geralt and Rhonwen—and as apologies, he gives hugs as hellos and goodbyes, and he likes to cling to Geralt from behind when its their kitchen shift. He likes it even more when Geralt clings to him.

Geralt isn't always there to hug, though. Rhonwen also has her duties in Brokilon. His brothers and Vesemir are trying their best, but between Vesemir's dislike of touch, Lambert and Eskel's weaker constitutions, and Jaskier's forgetfulness of his strength, Jaskier must most often simply deal with his moods by himself.

Maybe Geralt could make him something?

Eskel and Lambert are out on the Path already and Geralt will join them soon. He doesn't feel good leaving Jaskier in the keep with Vesemir, even if the two get along swimmingly. Everyone knows he doesn't plan on being away long, leaving only for two months to get supplies and get his restlessness out.

Two months is plenty of time to find something huggable for Jaskier. 

He already has an idea.

* * *

When it's time to leave, Jaskier hugs Geralt goodbye and peppers his face with kisses. He does this in their bed when they wake together, in the great hall when they eat breakfast together, and at the gate behind a wall so Vesemir doesn't have to see it, but they both know the elder witcher can hear them. 

They doublecheck that they can xenovox each other, make a schedule the know they won't stick to, and Jaskier embraces Geralt one last time before he descends down the mountain.

He follows Gwenllech River down to Yspaden, where he buys yarn made from Eire Úrr fur. It's half as thick as his pinky, soft, and smooth, and Geralt can easily imagine Jaskier burying his face into it. There's a blend of wool and cotton that would make for good filling, so he grabs a few bags of that. Too much, perhaps, but he can always sell the excess. His purse is lean for a few days after the expenses, but it's worth it.

Geralt doesn't travel south to Ard Carraigh or Gelibol, even though these regions have more bountiful crops. He sets his course up north through Yamurlak. Despite the two rivers which run through the annexed kingdom, it is known less for fishing and more for its rice farms. It is also oftentimes plagued by sirens, drowners, hydras, nixers, kikimoras, and more. Plenty of work to be found there, as well as a friendly face.

It takes him two weeks to reach Triss' place. There's been contracts and there's been a variety of folk, some of which gladly let him stay at taverns for free and others that overcharged for Roach's oats. They balanced out well. Geralt didn't struggle financially. Healers were many, and eager to help despite some sour attitudes. Not surprisingly, the closer he got to Triss the kinder the peasantry became.

"Oh, what a surprise!" Triss beams when she opens her door. It's the middle of the night, crescent moon high in the sky, and she is awake and energetic. "Come in, come in! Jaskier mentioned you're out and about, but he didn't say you'd grace me with a visit."

Jaskier didn't know Geralt was visiting. He didn't tell him. They call each other almost daily through their xenovoxes. Sometimes Jaskier is in hysterics, sometimes tired and capable only of asking _'you alive?'_ , but most often calm and talkative. Vesemir and Jaskier have moved on to the topic of various species of ogroids, and Jaskier had confessed his confusion about how cloud giants are included in the category. When Geralt tried to explain he only perplexed Jaskier further. ' _What do you mean it isn't made of clouds?_ ' had come through the xenovox, soon followed by rustling paper pages and an outraged gasp. Jaskier is _adorable._

"Don't tell him," says Geralt as he walks in through the door. Triss cocks her head to the side, her thick, coily hair bouncing with her movement. 

" _Oh?_ " she smiles. "How the plot thickens! I wonder what secrets you bring, then."

Before they talk about that, Triss insists on making them food. A Skelligan treat, hot rice pudding with sugar, cinnamon, and butter. Geralt hadn't been aware that Triss knew anything of Skelligan traditions, since as far as he knew, she had never ventured outside of the islands. Jaskier mentioned a paramour, though. Maybe they have something to do with it.

"Now!" Triss says, butter melting off of her spoon. Geralt decides not to ask about Triss' partner yet. "What brings you here, Wolf?"

So many people call him _'Wolf'_ these days. It's nice. A new pride in his position. A pride and wonder he's dreamed of as a child. Jaskier's good at making dreams come true, isn't he?

"A plush doll," he answers. Triss doesn't stop smiling, but her eyes flutter until they open so wide they could pop out of their sockets, and her eyebrows rise to her hairline. If Geralt remembers correctly, that's a sign of confusion and surprise. Mild shock, maybe? _'It makes sense,'_ he thinks.

"I want to make one for Jaskier," he clarifies. Triss slaps the table with her unoccupied hand, pushing herself backwards to precariously balance on the back legs of her chair. He mouth falls open, eyes impossibly wide. She gasps.

Geralt assumes that's a positive response.

She lifts her arm from the table and comes crashing down back into it. The force shakes their glasses of wine, spilling it, but nothing falls over.

"That's so cute!" she squeals. Triss wiggles in her seat, like Geralt's seen Jaskier do a couple of times. "What do you need?"

"Rice and some enchantments."

"I can't do charmwork," Triss says while nodding, which doesn't add up at all. "But there's a lot that potions can do. I've also been reading up on rituals. I can devise one for you to carry out."

"Can you not do them?" Geralt asks. This is familiar to him, somewhat. Jaskier has been working on runes, mostly, but he got inspired to do so when he worked on rituals. It makes sense that Triss would be his mentor in magic.

"I _could_. Got blood like everyone else, which is all you really need for those to work." Triss quickly eats the rice pudding falling off of her spoon. Then she uses it to point at Geralt and gesture wildly. "But, you know, magic allergy and all. It's a raw kind of Chaos. A bit too intense for me, I'm afraid."

Geralt nods. He doesn't have anything else to really say on the matter.

"What's the rice for, though? Not very soft, so I can't say it would make for a good _plush doll._ And it is to water what fire is to a moth. Are you sure you want to use that?"

Geralt pushes his half-empty bowl away to make space for his bags of holding, which he had previously laid by his legs. He pulls out bits of the wool-and-cotton blend stuffing to show Triss, who looks on in interest. She ' _oohs_ ' over it.

"That clears things up! But still, the rice attracts moisture," she says as she examines the blend in her hands. "Though I guess that's were my enchantments come in."

Geralt nods.

"It must be soft," he says. "But also heavy and durable."

"Mhm! How durable are we talking?"

" _Extremely._ "

"Geralt, what are you expecting Jaskier to do with it to be worth _extreme_ durability?"

Jaskier will throw it against the wall, probably. Maybe stomp on it or kick it. Pull at its limbs, try to gouge out its eyes. Hug it dead. Oh, that reminds Geralt about a feature.

"It must survive the Path," Geralt says. "Can you make it change size?"

Triss freezes with a spoonful of rice pudding in her mouth. Her eyes wander up as she thinks. The answer is a kind grimace and a shrug. 

"Is size-changing possible? Yes. Will I be able to make a ritual for it? I don't know."

* * *

Triss did not disappoint. She is kind, and invites Geralt to stay with her in a guest bedroom that, from the smell of it, houses patients when she has them. Geralt travels in the vicinity of Triss' home, never going further than three days away from it. Geralt brought her ingredients she lacked in return for her help, free meals and a roof over his head. It helped Geralt buy plenty of food for Kaer Morhen, supplies for horses, goats, cows, and sheep, and a canvas beret for Jaskier.

Jaskier hasn't touched his lute in a while but he's not one to scorn extravagant accessories. Geralt is fairly certain he will adore the stylized peacock feather attached to the cap, and the gray-blue hue. It won't really match all of Jaskier's wardrobe, but Jaskier is not above wearing eye-searing orange if he's in the mood, so any complaints will be minimal.

Throughout the plush-making quest, Geralt faces only two obstacles. 

_Firstly_ , despite Triss' elixirs and rituals achieving most of everything Geralt had wanted—water resistance, germ-repelling, a heavier weight (of both the rice and stuffing blend), and a durability Geralt frankly didn't think possible— neither of them could figure out the size-control.

Ultimately, they brought in Jaskier to help, despite Geralt's fears he could have found out it's for him. It does not seem as though Jaskier had realized what was happening at all.

"Hey, I need some consultations for a client. Do you know any runes that enable changing something's size?" Triss had asked through the xenovox that connected to Jaskier's. So as to avoid raising any suspicions, Triss had waited to strike until after they already had conversed about Jaskier's finding out about the cloud giants, and the dissertation he's decided to write about monster naming conventions. It wasn't Vesemir's idea. _No._ Jaskier was just very mad about it. 

Geralt found it near impossible not to interject his own two coppers on that, so he went outside to tend to Roach, who listened to his many opinions on the matter.

Jaskier didn't know any runes which could aid them, so he made some himself. 

"I might have broken some laws I don't know about again," he said. 

Geralt had several questions about that, so he wrote them down in his 'improved communication' journal. The journals were tedious, and so were the almost-daily Communication Sessions— _the gall of Jaskier being mad about monster nomenclature when he comes up with this bullshit_ —but loathe as Geralt is to admit it, they do help them speak about topics they otherwise would let fester under their skin. 

Regardless of Jaskier's probable breaking of laws, whether it be legal, scientific, or magical, the runes work. The plushie, once finished, was to have a symbol written into it with blood under a ritual. The symbol would connect it to the _actual_ size-controlling device, which was a leather band with the runes inscribed into it. Triss took the time to write the runes while Geralt charged them at different Places of Power.

A dummy ritual with a stone showed that yes, the madness worked.

 _Secondly,_ there was the issue of shape.

Geralt knew it should be something alive. Something that Jaskier could pretend felt pain, while not hurting anything in reality. A way for the dark, violent thoughts to be expressed without anything getting injured. 

It was, technically, a great idea. Geralt just didn't know _what_ it should be. He decided not to make it a likeness of himself or Rhonwen or Jaskier, or anyone Jaskier knew, because he'd either feel guilty about hurting another's image, or his self-hatred and want to harm could grow beyond controllable urges. Geralt did not want Jaskier relapsing. He accepts it as a very likely scenario, but he's not going to encourage it.

Triss was very unhelpful with her insights. Geralt didn't know just how much she knew about Jaskier's issues, so he didn't say a thing. This was very unfortunate when coupled with Triss' suggestions.

"A white wolf would be great! He could bring a physical memory of you anywhere."

"Perhaps a singing lark? He's a bard and he loves blue, it's a perfect combination!"

"Well, a _seal_ is profoundly huggable."

The last one was a good idea for a while, until Geralt remembered Jaskier mentioning a thing, and suddenly it seemed a little...in bad taste. Triss, somehow not frustrated with impatience, simply moves on.

"Alright! Quick, Geralt, what's the first thing that comes to mind when you hear _'friend-shaped'_!" she asks. Geralt blanks for a few seconds as his brain sorts itself around the words.

"Roach," he blurts.

"A Roach plushie, then!"

"No."

"What about a capybara?"

"What the fuck is that?"

"The _ultimate_ friend-shape," Triss nods wisely. She stands and goes through her shelf, eventually finding a massive leather-bound book, as thick as Geralt's biceps and taller than his foot is long. Everything on the little table they brainstormed at rattles when she slams it down, quite a few knicknacks making their way to the floor.

She flips haphazardly through the book, looking for something. 

"Aha!" she grins, slapping the page. She turns the book to Geralt. The page that is bound to the book itself is blank, as far as he can tell, but it is the many little paintings attached to it that gather his attention. Depicted in styles varying from the delightfully geometric to breathtakingly realistic are brown-furred animals with rectangular features and noses just begging to be nuzzled.

"Capybara?" he asks.

"Capybara," Triss nods.

So Geralt makes a capybara.

He dyes the knitting yarn with various brown dyes made from bark, making sure to work off of Triss' detailed instructions, depictions, and descriptions of the friend-shaped animals. He makes sure to make it a nice, warm brown, with black little feet, dark nose, and tiny dark ears.

Once the knitted outer layer is done, Triss helps him balance out the stuffing blend with the rice. She eventually takes over the project completely as Geralt heads out to do more contracts. When he returns a week later, the plushie capybara has been stuffed, de-stuffed, and re-stuffed multiple times over until it reached a nice, pliable softness. It didn't put in any resistance to being pulled, squished, squeezed or manhandled up until one reaches the rice. 

Triss has tested the plush toy's huggability multiple times, and when Geralt nuzzles its nose to see if it is truly as good as the sorceress claims, he finds that not even Roach's cute little nose measures up to it.

In its default size, the plushie is fairly big. The back of it, when laying on its stomach with its legs squashed by its weight, reaches just below Geralt's knees. 

He really, _really_ bought too much stuffing.

Geralt and Triss test the ritual-runes Jaskier had made for them several times before they dare attempt it on the stuffed animal. It goes off without a hitch.

* * *

Geralt returns to Kaer Morhen with a cart of supplies worthy a minor noble's fortune and a giant capybara magicked into the size of a peanut stuffed into his pocket.

Jaskier greets him same way he had bid him farewell; kisses peppered on Geralt's face and a hug. Unlike their parting two months prior, however, Jaskier is tired. His eyes are dark-rimmed, kisses sloppy, hug weak, and energy completely depleted. Vesemir doesn't hound Jaskier into helping out with the supplies, which itself speaks volumes, seeing as Vesemir tends to wield tough love and not-so-gently push people forward.

Jaskier disappears into his private room for the rest of the day.

"Couldn't get him up yesterday," Vesemir explains when Geralt asks about the lead-up to this Jaskier. "Doesn't seem like he slept even though he stayed in bed all day and night. Seems he mustered up enough strength to greet you, at least. Come, now, let's eat."

Vesemir doesn't outright state that Jaskier will not be joining them, nor that he won't eat should Geralt bring a dish to him, but Geralt knows. That's why he makes beetroot borscht and boils some eggs. Soups are easier for Jaskier to deal with when in that state—chicken eggs are Jaskier's favorite non-candy treat, so Geralt simply hopes for the best, even though he is fully aware Jaskier will either not have the strength to chew or be in the 'fucked-up-senses' stage already.

 _But_ a wither can dream.

He brings the pot of borscht, small bowl of eggs, tupperware, feathered beret and stuffed capybara to Jaskier's room. He lets himself in despite the usual custom to knock—mostly because Jaskier wouldn't be likely to answer, anyway.

He's not dozing. Like Vesemir said, unable to sleep. 

Geralt moves around Jaskier and the nightstand, laying everything out. Jaskier is cooperative when Geralt sits him up, and doesn't protest Geralt's actions. He ladles some of the borscht over into a cup, one-by-one clasps Jaskier's hands around it, and steadies them when they start to tremble with effort.

Jaskier drinks slowly, but he drinks. He even eyes the eggs, though Geralt is not sure whether with interest, sadness, apathy, or a combination of any such feelings.

He valiantly attempts to bite into an egg speared on the fork he holds, but Geralt can see it simply isn't going to work. He feeds Jaskier as much of the soup as the bard can handle while eating the eggs himself. 

"Do you want me to stay?" Geralt asks. After a long pause, Jaskier shakes his head. Before he leaves, Geralt stacks everything together so he can easily leave the room after he gives Jaskier the gifts he's got.

"Before I go, here."

Geralt takes the beret from where it's hanging on the back of his belt. He lets Jaskier have a look at it before he settles it on Jaskier's head. His eyes crinkle, and though his mouth stays tired, Geralt has learned this is low-mood-Jaskier's version of a smile. His chest almost bursts with something bright at the sight of it. Then he brings out the stuffed capybara.

Like Jaskier himself had devised three weeks prior, Geralt grabs the tip of the beige leather strap and touches it to the band encircling the capybara's torso. He follows the ring. The magic reacts, flowing through the doll, making it grow and grow and grow, until it's at its fullest size. The little beady button eyes Triss' nimble fingers stitched on gleam in the setting light. 

Jaskier lax against the wall his back leans against. Geralt doesn't feel bothered by the lack of reaction. He's learned Jaskier just as Jaskier learned him, and though they are still discovering things about each other, Geralt does not fear the unknown. 

"Triss helped me make it, which you probably realized. It's for your...emotional stuff," Geralt says, not sure how to explain it. "We put a lot of magic into it. If you're angry and wanna kick it around, it can take it. If you want to pull at its limbs, it can take it. Great at hugs."

Jaskier stares at Geralt for a while. Slowly, almost cautiously, he faces the capybara's rectangular, rounded head. Then his neck seems to give out, and he crashes fore-head first into the thing. His hands curl softly into the stuffed capybara's plush body.

Geralt feels himself smile.

He gently manhandles Jaskier back into a laying-on-the-side position, just as Jaskier likes it. He places one of Jaskier's arms around the capybara to better hug it. 

" _'ve you,_ " mutters Jaskier breathily. His entire body sags immediately. As if he has been trying to pull himself together, muster up enough energy to confess his love yet again. Geralt leans down and presses a kiss to Jaskier's shoulder, because a low-mood-Jaskier doesn't like skin contact unless he starts it.

"Love you, too," says Geralt back, then gets up, gathers up dinner and all that came with it, and leaves Jaskier.

There's a sigh just as he closes the door.

* * *

The morning after Geralt gave Jaskier the capybara and was denied entrance, he was certain he did something wrong. Maybe Jaskier had some associations with it, like he has with seals. Maybe he feels like he's being babied, as he feared when he first arrived at Kaer Morhen and Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir took care of him just as much as Geralt did. 

He wasn't going to ask, at first. It still feels awkward to _voice_ things. To make his thoughts known. It's a terrifying thing—to be known. 

But he and Jaskier had talked and agreed and made a promise to each other, to communicate better and to talk better so they could be happier. 

So he knocks again to make himself known, and he asks what he's done.

"No-othing!" says Jaskier through the door, choking on a sob. "I'm—I just—overwhelmed? Need to be alone. The plushie helps. _Later,_ Geralt, _please._ "

Geralt isn't very convinced, but away he goes.

He takes care of Roach and takes her on a run in the wilderness. When he returns, he helps Vesemir take care of the hens, milk the cows, and track down Lil' Bleater, who somehow managed to get stuck in a machicolation. Definitely _Eskel's_ goat. Geralt refuses any association with her.

The next morning, breakfast waits at the table in the great hall, and Jaskier sits by the fire with Vesemir. The old Witcher sleeps in his seat. Jaskier's eyes are trained on the thick book in front of him, chin digging into the capybara's head and arms wound tight around it.

"Still reading about ogroids?" Geralt asks, sitting on the couch, knee nudging Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier groans, burying his face into the stuffed animal.

"There's so many different types of rock trolls, what the hell!" he complain. His arms pull back and his hands squeeze at the capybara—Geralt now noticing a shrunken-down beret on its head—and Jaskier lifts it, before slamming it back down into the floor. "I'm surprised you didn't organise them by the _minerals,_ good god. Also, I've been re-reading the _same fucking page_ for over an hour. I just—my brain does not work today. I didn't expect it to, but _holy shit_."

Geralt wants to point out that Jaskier, while obviously dejected, is still trying. He wants to make Jaskier notice that he's is calm, not crying out of frustration or a misplaced feeling of worthlessness, as is the case usually. Saying that might scare Jaskier, might make him feel as though Geralt is reminding him of his _'lesser'_ qualities—as if that means anything—and so, Geralt keeps quiet about it. 

"Take a nap," he says instead.

"If I get in bed, I won't get out of it again," Jaskier sighs. "I've been thinking about getting up to get a drink for hours now, but I still can't manage to get up and get it."

Geralt knocks the edge of the tankard of ale he's holding into Jaskier's head. Jaskier raises his hand expectantly and Geralt hands it to him, which Jaskier downs without hesitation. At least they got to this point. At least they can ask each other for things, little services like this. It feels good.

"You're a gift, darling," says Jaskier, handing Geralt the empty tankard and leaning against his knee.

"Speaking of gifts…"

"Ah, yes, Poppy!" Jaskier lifts the doll up, showing off the way the blue beret covers one of the capybara's ears. "I don't know what you actually did with her, but she didn't get wet and uncomfortable to hug even though I cried on her a lot, so, thank you."

Jaskier hugs her again, using not just his arms but also his legs. Morning sun shines through the window and makes Jaskier's hair glisten. 

"Why _'Poppy'_?" Geralt asks. 

"She's got poppy-seed eyes."

"And you complain about how we name things."

"Don't call it a cloud giant unless it is made of clouds, Geralt. It's that easy!"


End file.
